Mendings
by Florentine Quill
Summary: Azar and Sarkan struggle to recover from the aftermath of Manipulation. Set in between Manipulation and Interruption of Metamorphosis.
1. Encounter

Azar sighed as she wandered into the kitchen, intent of raiding Kooza's huge pantry for something to help her sleep. She nudged the pantry door open with her foot, chin tucked into her chest as she braided her hair back for sleep. When she glanced up, she jerked back with a gasp. Sarkan stood within, a variety of ingredients held in his arms. "Azar," he greeted evenly. He raised an eyebrow. "Did I interrupt something?"

Azar flushed, realizing her fingers were still tangled in the half-finished braid. She finished the braid and tied it off, letting her arms hang down with a small sigh. "I just wanted some tea," she said, feeling unaccountably foolish. She looked at the ingredients Sarkan held, curious. Flour, sugar, baking soda, vegetable oil…All held in a small, rather battered cake pan. "Are you baking?"

"Yes. Normally Ilkin would take care of it but he's sleeping." Sarkan reached out a long arm, collecting another ingredient: Baking chocolate….Azar felt her mouth water. Whatever Sarkan was baking, it had chocolate in it.

She blinked and Sarkan was holding out the intricately carved box that held Kooza's entire supply of tea. She took it with a nod of thanks and backed out the pantry, holding the door open for Sarkan as he carried his armful of supplies to one of the long counters, setting the pan down with a metallic rattle. Azar walked over to one of the large stoves, grabbing the kettle to fill it with water before setting it on the burner, cranking the heat on.

She paused, considering the oven dials and turned, intent on asking Sarkan what temperature he wanted the oven at and found herself stifling another gasp when she discovered Sarkan, standing just within the edges of her personal space. He stared down at her, a peculiar emotion flickering in the back of his eyes. He raised an arm and Azar averted her eyes, flinching back from him. She inwardly cursed herself as he reached past her and turned on the oven, setting the temperature for whatever he was baking.

"Azar…" His voice was low and tense in a way that she had never heard before. That was a lie, she realized after a moment. He had often breathed her name in that same voice late at night tangled in the sheets as he ran sweat slick hands over her body, tracing nonsensical patterns out on her skin. It was full of an emotion that he so rarely showed.

"Don't," Azar managed to choke out, hating how weak the word sounded. "Just…don't Trickster." He drew back as if burned when she used his title, eyes sliding shut for a moment. Azar breathed a sigh of relief, able to think more clearly without him standing so close. Sarkan drew back further and Azar felt a weak giggle escape her. "Even now…You try to make me more comfortable."

Sarkan inclined his head but said nothing. Azar crossed the kitchen, taking an oversized mug from one of the cupboards and rifled through the tea box for something soporific. She picked one after several moments' perusal and poked the tea bag down into the bottom of her mug. When she glanced up, Sarkan had busied himself, starting to mix the ingredients for his cake. She watched him for a moment, noticing how he didn't seem to notice the flour clinging to his suit and hands. His back was a study in tension, at odds with the grace with which he mixed everything together into a rich looking batter. A piercing whistle broke the uncomfortable silence and Azar jumped before glancing at the stove. The kettle's whistle hiked up another few decibels and Azar winced, hurrying over to take the damn thing off the burner before her ears started bleeding. She poured the boiling water into her mug, gritting her teeth as a few scalding drops managed to splash on her hand. She set the kettle off to one side and flexed her fingers a few times to make sure that the burns were nothing truly serious.

"Are you alright?" Azar managed to not jump this time when Sarkan spoke. She looked up to see him standing a short distance away, cake pan in his hands.

She nodded, rubbing a thumb over the tender skin. "Just a few burns." The next sentence tumbled from her mouth before she could censor it. "Why would you care?"

Sarkan's hands tightened on the cake pan's handles. "Do not make the mistake of thinking that because I protected Cyrus that I do not care for you Azar," he said softly. Azar shivered at the look in his eyes as he walked past her to slide the cake into the oven.

Glancing down at her mug, Azar saw that her tea was almost done steeping. She grabbed a small sugar bowl and the small bottle of half and half from the kitchen's fridge for when the tea was finished steeping. She blinked and sighed, realizing she had forgotten to get a spoon. She turned and jumped for what felt like the hundredth time. Sarkan's lips twitched as he held out a spoon to her. She took the spoon with a sigh. "What tea are you using?" Sarkan's voice had lost some of its tension but it was still soft.

"…Valerian," Azar answered after a moment. A small, vindictive part of her grinned in triumph when Sarkan slid back half a step, guilt flickering in his eyes. Valerian was one of the better herbs to use in sleeping tea. She had never had any cause to use it before.

"Azar…"

"What kind of cake are you baking?" she interrupted him before he could say anymore.

Sarkan watched her for a moment before sighing. "Chocolate chip," he replied. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against a nearby counter, apparently content to say nothing more.

Azar nodded. Ilkin's chocolate chip cake was standard fare for whenever someone wanted something sweet. The Charivari leader was perfectly capable of baking more complex delicacies but the cravings for those were rare. She had a private suspicion- backed by a few offhand remarks from Sarkan- that for all of his sophistication, Sarkan had grown up in a much plainer environment. That subtle preference had probably permeated Kooza much like Sarkan's sweet tooth had.

Glancing down, she saw that her tea had finished steeping. She fished out the soggy tea bag and dumped it in one of the many little trashcans scattered around the kitchen. She added in two teaspoons of sugar and a dash of half and half to blunt and sweeten the tea's natural flavor before picking up her mug. Sarkan looked at her but didn't move from his position. "I'm for bed," she said quietly.

Sarkan inclined his head. "Good night Azar," was all he said.

Azar murmured a reply and left, sipping at her tea.

* * *

**AN: Please tell me this came across as awkward. Because it damnably awkward to write. *sigh* Sadly this story arc won't be as cheerful as its predecessor, Foundations because there's not a cheerful way to handle the fact that Sarkan _hurt _Azar and they're both incredibly uncertain of where things will go from here. **


	2. Offer

Azar yawned as she stretched, listening to her joints and back crackle at they shifted back into proper alignment after sleeping. Rubbing at her eyes, the trapeze artist slid out of bed and shuffled towards the door, feeling muddled. "Must be the tea," she mumbled to the floor as she opened her door.

She blinked in surprise.

Sitting, almost a foot in front of her door was one of Kooza's small dessert plates. Perched on top of the plate was thick, delicious looking piece of cake with a small fork sitting on top. It was a dark brown, with chocolate chips studded throughout. Azar blinked again and rubbed at her eyes for a moment as last night's stilted conversation drifted through her mind.

"_What cake are you making?"_

"_Chocolate chip."_

_

* * *

_**AN: I have a sudden craving for chocolate chip cake...But look, Sarkan still cares! And is apparently capable of Jayden/Aysu levels of sweetness. **_  
_


	3. Crash

Azar gritted her teeth as she pushed herself to fly higher, swing faster. She could hear the wires of her trapeze sing with the stress she was placing on them but she ignored the small part of her that cautioned her to slow down. "Can't slow down," she panted under her breath. "Don't want to, don't want to think." Recklessly, she lowered her trapeze and did several circuits of the clearing while maintaining her high speed. If not the thick calluses on her feet and calves, she would've gained several painful friction burns. She started to shift her grip, eyes widening as she felt sweat soaked palms combined with cramping fingers slip from her trapeze bar. She was sent tumbling across the bataclan's clearing, abruptly colliding with whatever invisible barrier marked the edge of Kooza. Thankfully whatever the barrier was made of was soft and helped absorb her impact. Azar sprawled, gasping for breath and biting back a groan as her body started hurting in response to the crash.

She blinked the sweat from her eyes and stared up at her trapeze, still swinging wildly above her. Apart from the bruises she could feel forming; her entire torso- especially her arms and shoulders- felt like they were on fire from the abuse she had subjected them to. At the same time, her muscles felt like they had the consistency of the strange gelatin dessert Ilkin sometimes made. She let out a weak chuff of laughter, too exhausted for a proper derisive snort. She was distracted from thoughts by the sound of footsteps. Seconds later, Ilkin was frowning down at her as if summoned by her thoughts.

"That must have been one of the stupidest stunts I've ever seen you pull," he said flatly.

"Shut up," she muttered, wincing as she felt sore ribs announce themselves. Ilkin snorted and leaned down to haul her to her feet, ignoring her outraged snarl of protest. He narrowed his eyes as she stood, knees wavering for a second before deciding to hold her weight. Azar glanced at him and hissed, recognizing his expression. "Pick me up and I'll tell Michael where you hid the wine," she threatened.

"Try anything like what I just saw again and I'll tell Trickster," he replied. Azar stiffened at the mention of Sarkan and started back towards the bataclan, favoring her left leg. Ilkin matched steps with her, ready to catch her if her leg gave out. Azar favored him with another venomous glare but he smiled back at her before frowning. "People are going to start noticing," he said.

"Notice what," Azar grumbled under her breath.

"Whatever it is that is going on between you and the Trickster," he retorted. Before Azar could growl at him, he continued, "I've only noticed since it's what I _do. _Be grateful that Aysu hasn't, otherwise she would start picking at your entire relationship with him again."

"Aysu can fold it up into corners and shove it up her ass," Azar said in a sour voice. At Ilkin's sharp look, she shrugged one shoulder as they started up the stairs leading to her loft. "She goes after my relationship, I'll go after hers." Not even one of the clowns would've mistaken the baring of teeth that followed her statement for a smile.

"If you two start fighting, I'm getting earplugs," Ilkin muttered. "Seriously Azar- Figure out what you're going to do about Trickster. Break it off, patch it back up, kiss him senseless, _whatever. _Just…resolve it," he said, sounding pained. Azar felt a flicker of amusement at Ilkin's last suggestion. "The others are going to notice and are going to want to get involved," he warned.

Azar didn't reply and they spent the rest of the walk up to Azar's loft in silence, save for the occasional gasp that escaped Azar as she jarred some newly hurting body part. At her door she gave him a brusque nod of thanks as she started to slip inside. "Send up one of the others with that muscle rub later," she ordered.

"Tch. I should send Aysu or Cyrus for all the politeness I heard," Ilkin replied, folding his arms over his chest.

"…_Please,_" Azar ground out through gritted teeth after a moment.

Ilkin smirked. "I'll send one of the others. See you at dinner." Azar's door didn't quite slam shut but it came close.

* * *

**AN: (I hate. Long division. And polynomials.) Azar tries to avoid the situation with Sarkan with a tried and true tactic: Overworking. Ilkin notices things because informally he's considered second in command of Kooza and because of his mile-wide mothering streak. This is one of the few times he has the upper hand over Azar because she doesn't do anything that he can worry at her about if that makes sense. **

**Connecting back to the last drabble...Azar did enjoy the cake Sarkan left her but she's still going to try and ignore the situation for a while longer. But with the risk of the others taking notice, she's going to have to start thinking about things and that won't be a comfortable process for her.  
**


	4. Musings

Azar let out a long sigh of relief as she stepped under the cascade of hot water in the shower of the large communal bathroom hidden away on the second level of the bataclan. She winced as the water found the several scrapes along her arms and legs she'd acquired in her crash but the pain faded away after a moment and she could almost feel the tension in her muscles melting away. She ran her fingers through her wet, heavy hair, pushing it back from her face and sighed again, this time in contentment. She let her eyes drift shut and she leaned forward, resting her head against the tiled wall of the bathroom. The tile was cold and felt pleasant contrasted with the hot water and her skin.

"_Figure out what you're going to do about Trickster." _

Azar's eyes opened and she raised her lip in a silent snarl as she stood up straight, turning up the temperature of the water as she did so. Damn Ilkin's observant nature! She had been doing just fine with ignoring the entire situation and Sarkan. Unfortunately, Ilkin's words held the damnable ring of truth: If she didn't do something soon, the others would notice. Aysu would gloat in her own way and everyone else would want to know what had gone wrong and everyone would have different suggestions of how to "fix" things.

Azar sighed and let her head fall forward, hitting the wall with a hollow thunk. She repeated the motion twice more before groping for soap and a washcloth. As she carefully washed, Azar prodded her thoughts towards the issue she'd been avoiding. She frowned as she tried to discern the main problems she had taken away from that last encounter with Sarkan.

_The boy. _Azar was startled at the flare of rage she felt when she thought of the young brat Sarkan had brought to Kooza. It reminded her of Aysu and how she had hounded Azar in the beginning of Azar's relationship with Sarkan. Azar drew in a slow breath- careful not to inhale any water- and let it out as a hissing breath and tried to shove her anger towards the back of her mind. _Next issue._

_He hurt me. _Azar closed her eyes as her stomach contracted into a ball of ice. That alone hurt more than anything else and was grounds to end her relationship with him. Yet…In all of their time together, Sarkan had never hurt her before. He'd always been so careful, letting her decide things for herself rather than forcing her. Her lips twitched. So very different from how he acted in front of the others. She scowled as she rinsed the washcloth she'd used free of soap. She had once told him that she refused to become part of his reputation. By harming her, he'd forced her into that reputation and at the same time, taken a step back in time. She had caught an up close and terrifying glimpse of the cruel creature Aysu had encountered. _The circumstances were different though, _she thought. _Back then, he just hurt her for one remark. This time he was protecting someone. Protecting someone. From me. _

Azar shivered despite the hot water as that fateful scene played out behind her closed eyes. She watched, feeling numb as she advanced on Cyrus, noticing for the first time, the fear and guilt present in his expression. She winced as she shoved him and he tripped. _He's the same size as Cita and the other contortionists. _Azar liked Cita, as much as she liked anyone within Kooza. The girl liked to chatter but she knew when to be quiet. Azar shuddered as her mind replaced Cyrus's scrawny form with Cita's slender frame. Sarkan intervened and it was Cyrus again, shaking with fright behind the Trickster. The scene finished and Azar opened her eyes with a sigh. Her stomach was still knotted but the ice had melted into something acidic.

Azar was distracted by the sound of the bathroom door opening and someone entering. It seemed her time to think had come to an end. "Azar? Ilkin sent me up with muscle rub and to remind you that dinner's ready."

Azar twitched. Of course Ilkin would send Cita. She quickly made sure that there was no soap clinging to her skin or hair and shut off the shower. _The water was almost cold anyway, _she thought as she wrapped one of the plush towels around herself as she stepped out. "Give me a moment Cita," she called, starting to dry off as she moved towards where she had placed her clothes on the hooks provided.

She was unsurprised to see Cita waiting for her, muscle rub in hand and nodded a greeting. Cita gave her a half smile and waited patiently for Azar to dry herself off, only speaking when Azar reached for her clothes. "Do you want the muscle rub now or after you get dressed?" Azar was starting to feel cold but she knew it was easier to spread the liniment on without clothes. She took a seat on the low bench below the hooks, her back to Cita. "Where do you want it?"

Azar shifted slightly, determining what muscles needed the balm. "My shoulders and upper arms and back," she replied. Cita nodded and started smearing the liniment in a thick layer over the areas Azar had mentioned, ignoring the low hiss of pain Azar let out as she rubbed the stuff into the sorest muscles, watching Azar's skin stain orange from the rub.

Within a few minutes, Cita was done and Azar sighed as the rub started working, numbing her muscles with what felt like an ice cold fire. They both stood and Azar debated over whether she wanted to apply more of the bliss inducing rub along her forearms and stomach. "Let me see that," she said, motioning for Cita to hand over the medium sized tin. Cita did so with a shrug and watched as Azar spread a thin layer along her stomach and legs, carefully avoiding the abrasions from her fall.

Azar closed the tin and tossed it towards Cita who caught it neatly. It took only a few moments for Azar to dress and they left the bathroom. Cita was quiet as they walked, letting Azar focus on gingerly prodding her thoughts in the general direction of what seemed to be their logical conclusion. They stopped by the common room entrance. Kooza lacked a formal dining room and so most meals were taken in the common room due to its proximity to the kitchens. Azar looked at the common room for a long moment before turning towards the bataclan's entrance. "Tell Ilkin I wasn't hungry," she muttered to Cita as she left.

Cita watched Azar leave with a small frown but shrugged and entered the common room. Ilkin turned towards her from where he was talking to Cyrus and scowled when he saw the lack of Azar by Cita's side. He made his excuses to the boy and left the common room.

* * *

**AN: Argh, I'm sorry for the lack of updates. Life happened. So you get three updates and that actually finishes the story for the moment.**** I was unashamedly basing the muscle rub off of a real life product: Tiger Balm. If you ever have sore muscles, that stuff is a godsend.  
**


	5. Stubborn

Azar took a seat on her trapeze and swung slowly, letting her toes brush the floor as she swung. _The boy is important to Sarkan. _Why_ is he important to him? He's just some brat from outside…_Azar heard someone leave the bataclan and sighed. "I'm not hungry Ilkin," she growled.

"I doubt anyone would be hungry after the accident Ilkin described to me. He asked me to tell you that not eating counts as stupidity." Azar twisted about in surprise to Sarkan standing a few feet away, watching her. He smirked as Azar muttered several uncomplimentary things about the Charivari leader, drifting over to stand in front of her, careful to stay within her line of sight.

Azar narrowed her eyes. "I'm not a fragile little flower Sarkan. You won't scare me by standing closer."

Sarkan raised an eyebrow and between one breath and the next, he was _there, _sliding long fingers around the back of her neck, steadying her as she jerked back. "Scared were you?" he murmured. He smirked as he felt Azar's neck heat up with an embarrassed blush under his hand. He savored the contact for a moment before starting to slide back.

It was Sarkan's turn to be surprised when Azar slid off her trapeze, curling her hands around his arms to keep him from moving away. He stilled, staring down at her. She met his gaze, determination glinting in her eyes. "I wasn't. Scared," she said.

"Fair enough," he replied, inclining his head, deepening the motion a little more than he usually did. Azar's grip tightened on his arms; he knew the action was too close to a bow for her comfort. He gently removed her hands and stepped back. "You were never startled by my touch before," his voice was soft, regret audible. "You enjoyed it, _wanted_ it. I will not…impose myself upon you unless you desire it."

Part of Azar melted into a puddle of goo. She merely flushed, looking down. Even now, a small part of her wanted to step forward and curl around him, breathe in his familiar scent and the feel of his suit. _Not yet, _she told herself. _But soon. Maybe._

_

* * *

_**AN: And Azar and Sarkan started drifting towards each other again. Azar wants to still be with Sarkan, she just can't understand why Cyrus is so important. **_  
_


	6. Explanation

Sarkan leaned against a shelf, idly sliding his fingers over the slick leather cover and thick parchment pages of the book in his hands as he read the book's contents: Several Norse poems that were now famous Cyrus's world. He murmured the current verse under his breath, savoring the opportunity to speak the language he had grown up with.

"I can't figure it out!" Sarkan looked up to see Azar standing a few feet away, fists clenched. Before he could raise his eyebrow, she continued. "I've spent hours trying to and I can't! _Why _is he so important to you?" she asked, frustration etched in every muscle.

Sarkan closed his eyes for a moment before standing up straight and closing his book. He put it away, thinking. If Azar had been simply demanding to know, he would refuse to tell her. He did owe Cyrus an explanation as to why he had chosen to bring him to Kooza. However, that explanation was not going to be held for a _very_ long time if Sarkan had his way. However, it seemed that Azar was just as deserving of the same explanation. Judging from her frustration and well hidden nervousness, she _had_ spent a large amount of time trying to figure out his motives. She was actually trembling from the tension locked inside her muscles. Part of him was tempted to ask if she meant Cyrus, just to watch her reaction…But no. Azar deserved better, particularly right now.

"Walk with me?" he asked in a low voice, extending a hand. Azar stared at him for a long moment, eyes narrowing slightly before giving a slow nod.

The pair left the library and wandered the bataclan for a time, as they had first done in the beginning of their relationship. Sarkan was still himself but his movements held an element of stiffness as he walked and his mapping out of the bataclan's shadows seemed almost frantic. Azar stayed quiet, trying to lessen the tension in her own muscles and failing. Finally Sarkan led her up to the King's Balcony and leaned against the railing, bracing his arms as he looked out over Kooza. Azar stood near him and waited. Finally, Sarkan spoke.

"Cyrus is incredibly powerful Azar. He may not look like it or act like it-" Azar snorted softly, earning her a wry glance from Sarkan. "He may not seem like it, but he is. As someone with a comparable level of power, I have an obligation to teach him."

"There's no one else?" Azar muttered, crossing her arms.

"Would you rather have Athanasius teach him?" Sarkan replied. Azar shivered from the thought of the Reaper. Beside her Sarkan's spine was a study in tension.

"Fine. So you teach him. But that doesn't explain _why-_"

"He's mine."

Azar stopped. Turned to face Sarkan, who was staring down at his hands which were clenched around the balcony railing, white knuckles visible on of the fingers not covered with gold leaf. Sarkan's eyes slide over to meet her gaze and he continued, any eloquence he had possessed vanished. "He's blood kin Azar. A descendent. I'm obligated twice over to teach him because of that." Sarkan's eyes shifted back to his hands and he relaxed their grip. "If Athanasius had managed to find him before I did…" Sarkan's hands clamped down on the railing again. "No matter. Cyrus is _mine."_ The last word was little more than a snarl but it was a snarl Azar was familiar with. It was possessive and protective and cared very little for the niceties of the world. She had used it and was comfortable with it. It spoke volumes of how much Sarkan cared for the boy.

Volumes that suddenly made so much more sense...Azar stared down at the far away ground of the clearing, thinking. Sarkan stood beside her, motionless. After what felt like an age, Azar muttered under her breath, "How can he be related to you and still so _clumsy_?"

Sarkan turned his head and stared at Azar before laughing softly. He leaned his head back as his laughter continued before trailing off. "A mystery that eludes me," he admitted with a sigh.

Azar gave a huff of her own laughter. "…I still don't _like_ him," she warned Sarkan.

He raised an eyebrow and for the first time, some of Azar's tension slid away at the familiar action. "You do not like _people_ in general Azar. I would not dream of forcing you into companionship with Cyrus." His gaze darkened and Azar fought the urge to avert her eyes. "As long as you do not harm him again, I will be satisfied."

Azar gave a short nod. Sarkan hummed something under his breath and extended his hand towards her for the second time that evening. "Walk with me again?" he asked, something akin to hope in his eyes.

Azar tilted her head, considering the offer. After a moment she nodded and the pair entered the bataclan once more.

* * *

**AN: "Happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending."**

**Ah, Shakespeare. Azar gets her explanation. She and Sarkan will return to the habit of wandering the bataclan together, talking and rebuilding their relationship back to its pre-Manipulation levels. Obviously, they are back to normal by the events of Interruptions (Poor Cyrus xD). I _could _extend the story by writing out some of those wanderings but it's not anything amazing. **

**Tomorrow, I shall start posting the last of the fully completed drabbles, set Post Show. Cyrus will be sixteen and his life has taken a turn for the worse and he retreats to Kooza for a time. It's was my favorite set of drabbles to write in a very twisted way xD **

**I do have other drabbles, of Cyrus when he's older and encountering other entities like Loki, Odin and the Satyrs. Unfortunately, those aren't complete yet and I'm not sure when I will post them.  
**


End file.
